Patches
by KkarmaCchameleon
Summary: Scorpius is always asking Rose questions, just never the one she wants him to.


"Weasley, can I ask you something?"

Rose turned to Scorpius and her pulse quickened as she hoped he was going to ask the question that she'd been _aching_ to ask ever since the permission slip came in the mail over the summer. She just didn't quite have the nerve to do it. "Of course!" she chirped.

"Why do you have all those patches on your robes?"

She sighed. She should've expected something along those lines. He was far more likely to ask an awkward question like that as opposed to something about Hosgmeade.

Scorpius interpreted her silence as embarrassment and looked mortified. He stumbled over his explanation. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I don't think—I'm not questioning—I wasn't saying they look _bad!_ I just—Merlin, I'm not helping myself, am I?"

"Spit it out, Malfoy!" But she smiled.

"What I'm _trying_ to ask is: isn't your family, y'know, _wealthy?_" He realized how that sounded, and again fumbled for words. "I mean—I saw in the _Prophet_—the joke store, it's successful, and your mum—she's got a pretty good salary too."

Rose chuckled as he struggled. "That's true. I don't see what it has to do with my robes, though."

He took a deep breath, determined not to muck up again. "Your family's got plenty of money; you don't need to walk around in patched-up robes, and your brother doesn't, so why do you?"

She shrugged. "I like the way it looks. My mum taught me who to sew the Muggle way when I was little and I've always enjoyed that. Plus, my dad didn't have a lot growing up, so his robes were sometimes a little too small or kind of shabby. It's kind of a tribute to my parents, I guess."

He just stared at her, a small grin playing at his lips. "Incredible depth for a Gryffindor," he remarked. "Aren't you supposed to be shallow and reckless and stupidly brave?"

She shoved him. "Shut it, Ravenclaw."

Later, she reminded herself that they were only thirteen. Perhaps it would take a couple years before either of them was ready to consider asking the other on a date.

* * *

It was the summer after fifth year and her parents had agreed to allow Scorpius to spend a week with them. Her father was less than pleased, but her mother had reasoned with him. Rose wasn't sure exactly what sort of coercion had transpired, but she was glad her mum was persuasive enough that her dad had caved in the end.

"Rose, can I ask you something?"

Maybe this was it. Maybe he was going to ask. "Sure."

He held up a grey denim jacket. "What in Merlin's name is this?"

"Don't act like you've never seen Muggle clothes before," she said, faking offense at his tone and brushing off the fact that she had once again gotten her hopes up that he was going to ask something else.

Scorpius snickered. "Not the _jacket_, although it's an atrocity alone," he teased. He turned the jacket around and pointed to the back, where patches of various band peppered the fabric. "What the hell are these?"

"Patches from bands Mum listened to during her rebellious punk phase. They're vintage," she added proudly.

"But your mum is, well, she's—"

"Uptight? Bookish? Not the kind of person you'd expect would like The Clash?" Rose suggested.

"Something like that. What's a sex pistol?" he asked interestedly as he surveyed the various band logos sewn onto the jacket.

"The Sex Pistols. They're a band, you dolt." She said it affectionately, though, like the fact that he was a dolt was the best thing in the world.

He clapped a hand over his heart in faux-agony. "You wound me." He took in her appearance, noticing that her jeans had a tear in one knee and a patch on the other. "Does _everything_ you own have patches?"

* * *

N.E.W.T.-level Herbology was proving to be more difficult than Rose had anticipated, not to mention more dangerous.

"I don't see what the _use_ is," Scorpius complained.

"Watch it," Rose warned brightly. "You know how Neville gets about his plants."

He shuddered. "It's so _weird_ that you're on a first-name basis with a profess—_OW!_" A Venomous Tentacula had wound its vine around his arm.

Acting quickly, Rose shouted, _"Diffindo!"_ Part of the vine was still wrapped tightly around Scorpius's upper arm, but the plant itself was no longer connected to it. "Nev— Professor Longbottom!" she yelled frantically.

Neville barely glanced up from the student he was extricating from Devil's Snare. "Hospital Wing, now!" was all he offered as a response.

Rose grabbed her friend's wrist and dragged him out of the greenhouse. "Rose," he whined. "I can walk just fine."

"Sorry," she mumbled, letting go at once.

"I didn't mean—never mind." The damage was already done. "So, looks like I got us out of class," he said cheerfully. "Even if it _was_ an accident, you've gotta thank me for this one."

"Not if it kills you. You know Venomous Tentacula can be deadly, right?" she snapped as they walked up the stairs at a brisk pace.

He knew she got snippy and agitated when she was worried, so he tried to put her mind at ease. "Relax, would you? I'm fine. Poppy is the best."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "You're on a first-name basis with Madam Pomfrey?"

"Well, no, but I felt left out because all of you call Professor Longbottom _Neville._"

That got a laugh out of her. "You're ridiculous. You know that, right?"

As soon as they entered the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey saw the vine on his arm and rushed over. "I've _told_ that boy to keep those plants in a separate greenhouse," she muttered furiously, cutting it off of him, revealing a torn sleeve and a gash on his shoulder. She dabbed a slimy pink cream over the wound and instructed him to lie down. "I'll have to keep you here for a few hours."

After he was situated in one of the uncomfortable beds, he gave her a strange look. "Rosie, can I ask you something?"

Her mind instinctively jumped to the unlikely conclusion that getting attacked by a deadly plant had knocked some sense into him. "Sure thing."

"Can you patch up my robes for me?"

Her heart sank, though she wasn't altogether surprised. "Can't you do that yourself?"

"No, I mean, like yours."

* * *

Later that afternoon, after Madam Pomfrey had declared that he was just fine and released him, Scorpius sat on his bed, smiling contentedly as he watched Rose sew a scrap of fabric onto the sleeve of his robes. She was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and she looked like she just _belonged_ there. She was concentrating, making sure that every stitch was perfect, and didn't notice him staring. "You're so strange," he said fondly.

"How so?" she asked, not looking up, still focusing intently.

"You're a witch. You've grown up your whole life knowing magic, unlike your mum, who didn't even know magic exists until she was eleven, but you _still_ insist on doing this the Muggle way. It's understandable that your mum would have habits like this, but you do it by choice."

"I _like_ doing some things the Muggle way," she replied defensively. "It feels like I actually accomplished something, instead of just waving my wand and fixing it."

"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it! I like that you're such an oddball."

She tried to ignore the way the half-compliment made her feel. "Finished!" she announced, holding up the sleeve to show him.

"I love it!" Scorpius exclaimed, lunging forward to wrap her in am embrace. He kissed the top of her head. "You're the best, you know?"

Rose smirked. "I know. It's good to be validated, though. You should tell me that more often." The kiss was nothing more than a friendly gesture, she told herself. He did that all the time. _They were just friends._

"You're the best, you're the best, you're the best," he repeated. "You're the best, and you're bizarre, and we should celebrate that. Can I ask you something, without it being weird?"

She pretended to ponder this. "Let's see. Over the course of today, you've been attacked by a plant and I sewed your robes back together. I'm not sure if 'weird' exists anymore."

"D'you wanttogoto Hogsmeade with methisweekend?" he asked, the words coming out rushed. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? As, you know, a date?"

Rose smiled brightly. "I thought you'd never ask!"

* * *

**I **imagine that Hermione went through a phase where she listened to lots of 70s punk. I hope y'all liked this!


End file.
